Blitz of Conflagration
by High-Elf-Swordsman
Summary: The battle for the fate of Earth between the Autobots and Decepticons reaches a boiling point. There is no turning back. No quarter shall be given. When the smoke clears and the dust settles, only one victor will reign supreme.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing save the original characters depicted herein. Hasbro owns the Transformers and all properties associated with them.

**Chapter 1: Enduring Status Quo**

The battle between Autobots and Decepticons is as old as time itself, the conflict between these mechanical beings of power has raged across the galaxy. For the last three decades, these metallic titans have fought across the length and breadth of the planet known as Earth. At times they have been allies to various human factions, at other merely enemies. We now join a world locked in horrendous stalemate as neither side seems capable of gaining ground...

Dallas, Texas 8:47AM CST

"Ah, what a beautiful day," Jared Lopez remarked, taking a sip from his morning cup of coffee, the first of the sixteen he planned to drink over the course of the day. Though a mere desk jockey, Jared dreamed of a life of luxury as he stared at planes from the nearby DFW airport passing overhead. Not an expert on planes, Jared failed to realize one of them was an F-16 fighter jet, not the normal kind of aircraft to hover of this civilian airspace.

Jared whistled as he strolled down the block, waving hello to his friends Dan and Peter, owners of Carlos's Cafe (Carlos having left them the place in his will), before turning his eyes to examine the sensual form of a woman passing by to his left. Jared took a deep breath: this truly was a perfect day.

Moments later, Jared arrived outside his office. He swiped his keycard, nodded to the guard on duty, entered the empty elevator, rode it alone to the fifth floor, exited, and walked into his cubicle. It was a standard, nondescript place of work with the typical accoutrements needed as a salaryman: computer, pencils, stapler, coffee mug, whiskey flask, tissues, thumbtacks, tourniquet, and paperclips. He plunked down in front of the computer, let out a long breath, turned on his desktop computer, and began work on his latest spreadsheet. Jared, ever the studious worker, failed to notice the cassette tape player conspicuously hiding in the rear of his cubicle.

Eighty-eight second later, an explosion rocked the office building. The few workers with dull enough lives to actually show up early screamed. Jared fell to the floor, half out of shock, half from the fact that his swivel chair had split in two from the force of the blast. All around him people ran about crying out in terror, unsure what was going on. Already, Jared could see a casualty: lying near the window was Bertha Brittany Barnes, her body riddled with fragments of broken glass from the large single pane windows that had shattered from the damage. Gathering all of his energy, Jared did the only thing he could think of: run out of the office whimpering as his fellow coworkers screamed for help to pull a piece of pipe off of his manager, Mr. Sutton.

Jared raced into the streets, just in time to watch his office building collapse in a shower of steel, conrete, bone, and glass. The streets filled with wailing and lamentations, no one sure of what exactly was happening. Jared knew he'd been lucky. He took several deep breaths and ran away as fast as he could, not realizing that his pocket now held a cassette tape player and failing to see an F-16 circling towards the stratosphere.

Decepticon Command Bunker Upsilon, One Mile beneath Lincoln, Nerbraska, 9:14AM CST

"Master Megatron, Skywarp and Soundwave completed Phase Seven of the mission in the city known as Dal-Las," Starscream declared, his voice at once menacing, haughty, and whiny. The Second-in-Command of the Decepticons snickered to himself as he stared at the massive display screen before him. On one panel, he watched video feed projected from Skywarp's Holo-Drive, showing the carnage and chaos wrought on the city of Dallas. Even now, the aerial Decepticon continued firing missiles, targeting key corporations in the latest Decepticon assault.

The other half of the screen displayed the imposing figure of the great Decepticon commander Megatron. The massive robot sat atop of a throne of coils, rivets, and girders, all pieces of Autobots slaughtered while furthering their cause. Megatron tapped his fingers together happily, a gleam of pure evil in his optic sensors. In the shadows of Command Bunker Alpha, Megatron's silvery exterior appeared like bloodied iron, with only pinpricks of light illuminating the merest snatches of his gleaming alloys.

"Good..." Megatron stated. "Ensure Skywarp exits the premises before the fleshlings dispatch their Air Force. Primitive though it may be, their greater numbers would pose a threat nonetheless."

"As you wish, my lord," Starscream replied with just a hint of sarcasm, almost forgetting to bow as he spoke. "Soundwave has been ordered to maintain a low profile, and report only when he's completed Phase Eight."

"Perfect," the Decepticon high commander answered. He moved a metallic digit to shut off his communication screen, before stopping a moment. He moved a finger to his chin, as if pondering. "And Starscream?"

"Yes Lord Megatron?" Starscream's voice quavered slightly, fearing what his master and rival may state.

"Don't even think of betraying me yet again. You know you've no hope of success." Megatron's voice was cold, business-like even.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Starscream answered. Without another word, Megatron shut off his screen. Starscream chuckled to himself: machines can't dream.

Autobot Fortress Beth, Six miles outside Schenectady, New York 10: 25AM EST

Optimus Prime paced back and forth through the halls of the Autobot Fortress, a massive structure erected with human aid. His feet clanged loudly, yet sullenly, as he strode, trying desperately to think of a solution to the problem that plagued him. For days he'd thought without respite, without a moment for calm or reflective peace. He needed to make a decision. No longer could he sit idly by, allowing his fellow Autobots to wait with baited breath (or some equivalent metaphor for a robot). Suddenly, Optimus stopped his moved, raised a solitary finger.

"Eureka! I've got it!" Optimus Prime exclaimed with joy. Instantly, the other Autobots in the Bunker, from Prowl to Wheelie, crowded around their leader.

"Sir, what is it you've decided?" Prowl asked matter-of-factly. The Autobot Lieutenant wanted an answer more than any of the others.

"Yeah dawg, whatchoo tink?" Jazz cut in. The other Autobots mentally face-palmed: they needed to stop allowing Jazz to watch reruns of Flavor of Love in-between missions.

"Tell us straight, Optimus Prime! Our lives may be long, but let's not waste time!" Wheelie exclaimed, jumping for joy and capering about, as the young Autobot was wont to do.

"If you all could stop inerrupting me, I'd tell you damn it!" Optimus roared, fed up with the fact that his loyal soldiers were acting like a gaggle of zeta-chips before a negative feedback loop positron. Seeing the stunned faces of his comrades, a dreary expression crossed Optimus Prime's face. "I am sorry, my friends. As you know, the years have grated on me. Please excuse that outburst." The Autobots nodded; they understood the burden placed upon their glorious general, who had, for years, fought to a standstill with their foes. "But I've at last decided! The color of the lasers fired by the new blasters designed by Wheeljack will be...yellow!"

A great cheer went up from all the Autobots save Hotrod and Quickswitch. The former wanted them to be red, the latter didn't care, he just liked sulking.

Without warning, a loud klaxon sounded. The Autobots instantly forgot their jovial celebration (save Hotrod and Quickswitch who were, of course, unhappy with the entire ordeal) and looked around cautiously. Optimus Prime, ever the voice of reason, raised his hands to calm to his troops.

"It is merely the sound to signify a new transmission is coming in from Fortress Pei," Optimus assured the soldiers. "I suppose, in retrospect, it was a poor choice to make the sound almost identical to our alarm, but that's an issue to be discussed at another time." Optimus turned towards the computer screen which spanned across the entirety of the room's east wall. "Wheeljack!"

"Y...yes sir?" Wheeljack stammered, rushing to his leader's side.

"Turn on this damn computer!" Optimus roared.

"Sir yes sir, sir!" Replied Wheeljack, an excited look on his face. He loved to be of use to the Autobot cause, and more than ever lately he'd been at the helm of their war effort: designing weaponry, tuning up the fortress defenses, and smacking Hotrod in the back of the head so Optimus wouldn't risk denting his hands doing so himself. Wheeljack tapped a purple button on the keypad, and instantly the screen lit up with the face of none other than Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots.

"Yo, T-Rex, what up homie?" Jazz asked. He was rewarded with a swift kick to the rear capacitor courtesy of Prowl. Jazz turned around and faced Prowl, balling his hands into fists. "Wanna tangle, jive turkey?"

"Damn it, Jazz, why did I lend you my DVD of _Black Dynamite_?" Hotrod muttered to himself.

Optimus ignored his bumbling troops, realizing that a number of demerits were in order later, but not now, not while Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots, had an important message to relay.

"Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots! What news do you bring?" Optimus asked, narrowing his optic receptors with interest.

"Yes, it is I, Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots! And I bring dire news!" Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots, began. "Not more than an hour ago, several office buildings in the city of Dal-Las were destroyed! We have reason to believe this was a Decepticon attack."

"And what gives you that idea Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots?" Optimus asked with true curiosity.

"Our sensors indicated no human military craft in the local vicinity. Unless someone has synthesized technology superior to ours," at that comment, every Autobot laughed, "then we can only assume it was a Decepticon assault. I would guess that the mostly likely culprit is Skywarp given his rapid methods of extract and sightings of a fighter-like craft by our sensors."

"That is a plausible theory..." Optimus Prime pondered, "...but why would the Decepticons attack in such a way? What value is there in assaulting Dal-Las? And why move now, after several months of silence?"

"All valid questions, my liege," Wheeljack said, bowing. "If it might it please your lordship, perhaps I could lead a team to investigate the area and perhaps discover a correlation with their targets?"

"That sounds like a perfect plan without any possibility of going wrong," Optimus nodded approvingly. "Prowl, I want you to take Wheeljack, Wheelie, and Jazz to investigate Dal-Las. Rendez-vous with Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots and his Dinobots once you arrive, since they will no doubt be invaluable in the process. If you happen to find clues to a Decepticon base, do not hesitate to engage if you possess a significant tactical advantage."

"Define 'significant tactical advantage,'" Prowl piped up. He stood across from Optimus, eyeing the Autobot leader as if he possessed some amount of jealousy. But Prowl was perhaps the most loyal to the Autobot cause, and thus would never be a candidate for insubordination.

"If you have more guys and more guns," Optimus answered. "Damn it, Prowl, we've been over the Autobot Battle Protocol at least seventeen times in the last eight cycles."

"He was merely confirming your wishes, sir!" Wheeljack said, standing between Prowl and Optimus. "I don't think he wants things to end like...the Osaka Incident!" A collective gasp emerged from the Autobots clustered in the fortress, as well as Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots on the screen.

"A moment of silence...as we remember the Osaka incident," Optimus Prime declared. Nods erupted from his followers as they shut off their optic sensors in quiet meditation. It was hard to believe that only one year ago the terrible Osaka Incident had forever changed the scope of the battle between Autobots and Decepticons.

Soon, the moment passed. Optimus Prime bid farewell to Grimlock, Leader of the Dinobots and ordered Wheeljack to shut off the scrreen. He bid farewell to his team, which teleported via their teleportation machine to Autobot Fortress Pei.

"As for the rest of us," Optimus began a new speech, "we must make ourselves ready for combat. I fear the Decepticons will make their move soon, and we must be prepared to prevent them from doing whatever terrible atrocity they plan to do!"

The next day, Great Strong People's Scientific and Progress Bunker, Pyongyang, North Korea 4:16AM NKST

"It is finally ready, Great Leader," the scientist declared, wiping his sweaty brow with a ripped purple rag that had likely once been a piece of a much larger rag. "We've worked night and day as you ordered, but finally we've constructed the weapon you commissioned. It was difficult to adapt the technology to what we had to work with, but we were able to do it thanks to your benevolence!"

"Good," the solitary word left the mouth of the Great Dictator Kim Jong Un. Perhaps it was a sole word, for Seoul was ever on the mind of this man without a soul. A wisp of a smile crossed his face as he stared at the massive machine laying against the edifice deep beneath the surface of his capital city. The machine was humanoid in construction, its body bulky and asymmetric. Its coloration was similarly strange, with its massive violet right arm contrasting with a smaller, almost shrunken green left arm. Its head sat lopsided, while its legs of unequal length caused it to stand with an odd posture.

Kim Jong Un raised his right hand, signaling his science team to activate the machine, which they did. Great whirrings filled the room and the machine took a struggling step forward with an uneven gait.

"What do you call yourself, machine?" Kim Jong Un asked. It had taken much of his country's resources, and many salvaged parts of fallen Transformers, to create this weapon. At the very least, it needed a name. Why not allow it the singular freedom to choose an epithet?

With a deep, booming sinister voice that sounded like boulders cascading down the Rock Mountains and smashing into conifers, the machine spoke. Several scientists jumped back in horror, while others soiled themselves. One scientist even suffered cardiac arrest as he heard the machine make its first deadly declaration.

"Call me...Knockoff."


End file.
